


Kindred Spirits

by EyesLikeStorms



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mabastian, Mary x Bash, mash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesLikeStorms/pseuds/EyesLikeStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mary and Bash flee the castle, a night in the forest brings them closer together. </p><p>Takes place after Fated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I don't know where you're going but do you have room for one more troubled soul?_  
 _I don't know where I'm going but I don't think I'm coming home_  
 _And I said I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead_  
 _This is the road to ruin, and we're starting at the end_  
\- _Alone Together_ , Fall Out Boy

It was Mary who stopped first--pulling on the reins, her horse came to a halt, and she disembarked with haste.

Once both feet were on the ground, she began rifling through the satchel hooked to the saddle. Bash, too, came to a halt and slid from his horse.

From the satchel she produced two apples, and handed one to him. Evaluating the direction of the sunlight, a fierce golden as it slid from the sky, she estimated it was late afternoon, and they’d been riding for most of the day without stopping.

Bringing food had been a last minute decision, but she had no idea where she was headed, nor that she would have company. She was thankful for the satchel full of fruit, a small pouch of nuts, and some dried meat she’d grabbed on her way out. It would keep them fed until they figured out what to do.

She led her horse to a tree and gave it an apple, too, to keep it calm. The sun was on its way south for the night and the dense forest cast shadows all around. Mary found solace in shadow, in night; the sun was too bright for her most of the time, and it gave her headaches that lingered behind her eyes. She much preferred the dreary days of Scotland, as strange as that preference was; she missed the lush countrysides and grey skies, and preferred that to the cultivated abundance of sunshine and colorful flowers that surrounded the French castle. France was beautiful, certainly, but impeccably so. Mary was a woman who loved the scent of the earth after rain and the feel of mud on her feet. She felt better when things were a little messy and dirty.

And she was sure that, at the moment, the shady, green forest was all that was keeping her clear-headed. She hadn’t given herself time to think much while riding; her and Bash had departed swiftly, and the sound of hooves on the ground drowned out the uncertainty in her mind.

But suddenly the image of Francis falling to his knees and calling her name floated into her mind. She saw Aylee’s body on the floor, eyes open, her head surrounded by blood like a halo. Mary cringed, her chest restricting at the memories.

What went wrong? It seemed like ages ago she’d been with Francis, entwined in her bed. She’d been briefly thrilled that their marriage was coming to fruition. But something had soured the entire affair.

Part of it was regret; her first intimacy with Francis hadn’t been what she expected. First, she thought they’d be married before they got to that place with one another, but that truthfully didn’t matter much to her. And there was certainly nothing wrong with his tenderness, or the sweet words he whispered in her ear as he positioned himself between her legs. It hadn’t even hurt as much as she thought it would; she’d heard horror stories in the castles, eavesdropping on the young servant women.

No, it was none of that. What was mostly a beautiful experience was overshadowed by an unwavering doubt: that Francis’ love was temporary, conditional. He loved fast, and often, and although she’d be his queen, there was little to keep him from pursuing others when he pleased. It would only take one fight before he’d be off seeking other women for comfort. His hot-and-cold demeanor didn’t feel stable enough for the love she wanted to offer.

And Aylee--oh, Aylee, the first girl to reach for her hand when something was amiss. Aylee, with her sweet face and beautiful blonde hair. Had Mary known she’d come to France just to lose a confidant, she’d never have come. Not that she had a choice in the manner, but it was simply unthinkable that she was put in a place where her life and the lives of her friends could be so easily disposed. How many times had her life been in danger already? It frightened her.

She sighed, and ran a finger along her forehead. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she looked up and saw Bash, carving his apple with the pocket knife he carried everywhere.

“I’m sorry for the pause--I’m just starving.” She bit into the apple tentatively; it’d been hours since she’d eaten. And the fruit was good--crisp and sweet, she devoured it quickly, unaware that Bash watched her, bemused, before biting into his own.

Too quickly, apparently, as a moment later, a sharp pain pierced her side.

“Oh god,” she said, touching the tender stitch in her side with slight pressure. Francis’ words returned to her, the words he said with his mouth on her stomach. She had no idea what the timeline of conception was, but couldn’t handle even the thought of being in that position just yet. “Please don’t let me be pregnant,” she muttered.

She glanced up and gasped, aware that Bash had unheard her unfortunately-timed musing. The expressions on his face shuffled, starting first at confusion with a furrowed brow, then wide-eyed understanding, then a well-masked jealousy before landing on a sympathetic but distant smile.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, you do have a lot on your mind right now, do you?”

“Oh Bash, I’m sorry--” she stumbled, still clasping the apple core.

“Mary, don’t.” He reached for her hand, relieving her of the core, which he tossed into the nearby stream. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

“It could be disastrous for me,” she said, wiping her hand on her dress. _In more ways than one_. If the castle found out she was no longer virtuous--she hated that term in regards to her chastity, but there was little she could do to change that--the king could call off their alliance. If she was pregnant--well, it wasn’t something she was ready for yet, and certainly not while she was unmarried. She’d be ruined, emotionally, politically--and Scotland, too, would be at risk for total war.

The apple residue was sticky in her palm, and she knelt to the stream to rinse it. The cool water felt invigorating--she was tempted to lie in it, wade naked in the clear creek. Given the topic at hand she felt it was quite an inappropriate desire, but she was never prudish at heart. Secretly she loved the Greek art from days long past--how freely goddesses ran wild in the forest, their bodies unhindered by uncomfortable dresses and shoes. She dreamt often about draping herself in soft fabrics and stalking deer in the woods, where she could live in a small cabin and be free, without the responsibilities and duties that constantly put her life in danger.

Alas, it was unlikely that would be her destiny.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and turned her head to look up at Bash. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, retrieving a hankerchief from his pocket. With his hand still on hers, he dried her palm. The feeling of his skin on hers sent a shiver up her arm.

“Mary, I know how the world works,” he said, letting go of her hand once it was dry. She wished he wouldn’t have stopped. “I know that things like love and duty are complicated and often at odds with each other. I know things aren’t fair for women like you, nor for your friends, or for the servant women, either--you’re all bound by arbitrary expectations, ones that we men won’t ever have to endure. I promise you that I will always keep anything you tell me secret.”

Mary didn’t know what to say. She knew that Bash’s role as the bastard made him more, well, _liberal_ about things, but she’d never expected a man to understand the complexity of intimacy from a woman’s perspective. She tried to bring up the topic with Francis--several times, actually, including in bed after they’d made love--and he brushed it off, as he had so many times before, saying that it wasn’t a debate worth having. Men and women must learn to accept their roles in life with grace, he had said. Especially rulers like us. But the sentiment had been off-putting, and she hadn’t realized how much so until now.

Her stomach was in knots. She decided to focus on the task at hand: finding a place to stay for the night.

“So what’s our plan? Where were you heading when I met you in the stable?” she asked. She always felt better when she was proactive. “I’ll admit that I did little packing before I briefly set off, and I’m afraid I know very little about the French countryside.”

“Well, we have a few options,” he mused. “There’s a town not far from here, a little less than a day’s journey. I suggest we head there until you decide what you want to do next. But it means we’ll have to make shelter in the forest tonight, if you’re willing. I was planning on that myself, so I have the effects in my pack. It’s entirely up to you, m’lady, but I suspect you’re not eager to return to the castle just yet.”

He was right; she wasn’t ready just yet to return and face Francis or anyone else for that matter. There was much still to sort through--Nostradamus’ prophecy, Aylee’s death, the uncertain state of her nuptials, the unavoidable pull toward Bash she was having trouble ignoring now that they were alone. It would be a long night, but she was getting tired, and she didn’t think either of them could handle traveling through til morning.

Camping--she’d never really been camping, although she had to admit that a night in the wilderness sounded wonderful. The nuns used to set up tents for her and the other girls during warm summer nights, but that was the closest she’d ever been to real camping. And sleeping near Bash, under the stars--well, her situation could be worse.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s do it. But I have a request.” She blushed, feeling foolish. “Can I try to start the fire? I’ve never had an opportunity to try.”

Bash raised his eyebrows, then grinned. “Absolutely.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bash watched as the dark-haired girl knelt in the dirt and rubbed her hands together quickly, urging the small pile of twigs catch a spark.

 _Come on_ , he heard her mutter, coaxing the tinder. _Come on_.

She’d tied her long hair back with a ribbon, and locks fell on either side of her face as she concentrated at the task at hand. He’d only seen her hair pulled back on few occasions, and admired the way it revealed the smooth nape of her neck, the slope of her shoulders. Seemingly unaware that her beautiful cream-colored dress was now caked with the mud from the forest floor, her brow was furrowed with frustration and intent.

She puckered her lovely lips, and blew into her hands; the brush began to smoulder, and sure enough, a small fire emerged. She rose to her feet and stoked the burgeoning flames with a stick, a pleased expression on her face.

Smiling widely, she looked to Bash for approval. “Well? How’d I do?”

 _Oh, Mary_. He’d never guessed that luck would result in a night alone, with Mary, in the woods. And yet he had to be careful to keep his distance. He was used to keeping his heart guarded; a thick skin was mandatory for bastards at court, although he was lucky to have his mother as his confidant.

Still, he was finding it harder these days to stay out of other peoples’ problems. But since Mary had arrived in France, she’d been hit with one scare after another. Her life had been in jeopardy on several occasions; poor Aylee had _died_ , her petite body lying cold in a pool of her own blood. It was a brutal way to pass, unfair especially for a young woman with much potential. The thought of Mary in the same position, eyes open but empty, was absolutely unbearable.

He was constantly bewildered that there were so many people in the world who apparently wanted these young women dead, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised; worse had happened to royals throughout history. Power was dangerous, for both the ruled and the rulers.

He figured offering his company, without strings, was the least he could do with what little power he had. And it’d been so long since he’d had a friend.

“Very impressive,” he replied earnestly. “It still takes me a while to get a fire going. But I often cheat.” From his pocket he produced a small flint firestarter hanging on a chain.

“And you left me to fend for myself!” she responded, grinning. “It seems all fire takes is a bit of patience. Patience has never been my strong suit, admittedly.” At this, she blushed, as if admitting a horrendous character flaw.  

Bash knew plenty about Mary’s impatience; he’d heard as much from Francis before she’d even arrived. And Bash had been in Mary’s company enough to noticed her complete inability to sit still for long periods of time. Dinners in the castle were much more amusing when he was aware of the way she tapped her feet under the table, pushed her food around her plate, blinked and made pleasantries while stealing longing glances outside the window. She spent much of her free time outside, and while she maintained a graceful air of impeccable posture, her hands often needed to be occupied--braiding a lock of hair, fiddling with a bead on her gown, folding pieces of paper into animal shapes. She was, simultaneously, a commanding woman and a restless one. He’d never met anyone capable of being both.

“Well, the tent is assembled,” he said, gesturing to the settlement he’d established for the night. While it wasn’t very spacious, he’d brought the thick tan fabric that repelled rainwater and dew, and with the several fur blankets and cloaks, she’d be quite warm for the evening. He placed the satchel in a cool patch under a tree to keep their edibles fresh.

She peeked into the tent and nodded with approval, then frowned. “Are you not sleeping here as well?”

“I’ll be fine under my cloak on this patch of grass near the fire,” he said, motioning to the makeshift bed he’d fashioned for himself. “I thought it best to give you space. You’re used to rather large chambers, after all.”

“Oh, Bash,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do you forget I was raised in a covent? I’m quite used to living among others without fineries, despite what you may think.” She paused. “In fact, I often miss it. Being in this forest right now feels--well, oddly natural.”

Bash understood, and felt similarly. Rather than a day spent inside wearing his best clothes, he much preferred a day practicing archery in the woods; searching for edible mushrooms in strange shapes and colors and identifying the poisoned ones in the book his mother had given him; or riding his horse in early morning while the dew turned into vapor under sunlight.

Activities he was sure Mary, too, would enjoy. He watched as she fluttered around their campground, placing logs around the fire for benches. She seemed more in her element than he would ever have expected.

Something had shifted in her, he could tell. When she spoke of Francis, uncertainty clouded her eyes. There were surely hints of love--or at least, affection--still in her voice, but he suspected her intimate encounter with his half-brother had taken some of the romance out of their relationship. Not to mention, the realization that those she loved were in real, constant danger, and the ominous predictions of Nostradamus, was plenty to cause her to reconsider the things she thought she once wanted.

She sat on a log, and beckoned him to accompany her. It was early nightfall now, and growing colder. The fire was comforting, as was her presence, and the glow illuminated Mary’s face. He studied her for a moment as she reached for the satchel and combed through it.

Her dark eyes reflected dancing firelight when she glanced up. If she realized he had been staring, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“What shall we feast on, my gallant knight?” she said, the corners of her lips turning upward. Although he knew she was teasing, his heart warmed at her words.

“I’ll take some berries, m’lady,” he said, returning the formality. She tipped the satchel and poured several strawberries into his palm. As for her, she selected a piece of dried meat, and tore into it with haste. The sight of her eating meat with her hands, with glimpses of her white teeth biting into it with abandon, was strangely alluring.

He tried to direct his attention to his own food, and bit into the strawberry. The sweetness was a shock on his tongue, pleasant and tart. He always found strawberries somewhat erotic; it was hard to find a mouth wrapped around a berry unappealing. How tempted he was to feed one to Mary, to watch her teeth bite into it and lap up the sweetness, her lips wet and stained with the color.

His head swam at the thought while a flush spread through his body, and he was grateful that the fire hid his burning face.

 _Get a grip on yourself_ , he reprimanded, suddenly ashamed. _You’re here to help Mary, and watch over her for the night while she clears her mind. She doesn’t need another man being deviant._

They nibbled in silence for several minutes as he tried to purify his thoughts.

“I meant it when I called you gallant,” Mary said at last, her voice low. She met his eyes. “You’re truly the only person I can trust. You’ve been nothing but kind and protective, and I’m so grateful.” Tears appeared in her eyes, and she pressed her lips together to fight them back.

Another few moments of silence as he tried to think of a response. But she spoke again first.

“I’m sorry I reacted as such after we kissed,” she said. This time she didn’t make eye contact. “I assure you, it wasn't because of you. I just have to act beyond what I feel. Your brother knows that there’s something between us. As do we. But our situation is--precarious.”

He reached for her hand, and she leaned into him at his touch.

“Mary, I won’t deny that, because we’ve tried that and it hasn’t worked,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Can’t you see how we’re so drawn to one another? But you have duties that prevent you from acting on your whim, and I am honor-bound to support that.”

She pulled away--almost reluctantly, it seemed--and sighed in agreement.

“I’m trying so hard to love your brother, Bash,” she said. “But I just don’t think he’s who I want him to be, nor am I to him. One moment he’s perfectly charming and attentive, and the next--it’s like he’s looking right through me to see where his next stepping stone is.”

Bash sighed. He knew his brother well enough to know what her estimation of Francis was quite accurate.

Bash, without question, loved his brother. In their childhoods they adored one another, despite their differences. But he noticed how power and attention affected Francis; Francis was much like their father, eager to be loved and respected. And like his mother, wanting to be desired and feared. For a future king, it wasn’t an unusual combination of personality traits, but it made it hard to come to terms with as a spouse and a lover.

“I don’t doubt my brother loves you,” he said at last. “As he loves me, as well. But he’s always preferred the company of those who don’t question that which makes him uncomfortable. And, well, you and I know all of his trigger points. So he pushes us away.” He grabbed the long stick resting again the log and stoked the fire. “But you and I have to decide, as adults, what our own paths will be, regardless of what Francis expects of us.”

They both stared into the embers, looking for answers. Beside him, he felt Mary shiver, and she reached for his arm, leaning into his shoulder.

“Are you cold?” he asked, rotating to better envelop her in his cloak. “I can fetch you a--”

But before he could finish, Mary turned to him, put her hands on his face, and kissed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where we get a little into the naughty side of things. Since we got some Frary action on the show, I'm really praying for some Mabastian sexytimes one of these days. A girl can dream, right?
> 
> Also I keep writing this fic at odd times of the night and morning so I'm sincerely sorry for any ridiculous typos. I do try to read and edit thoroughly but things always fall through the cracks.

Mary didn’t feel like questioning why this was the _second_ time she’d initiated a kiss between her and Bash, other than the fact that her ability to keep her distance from him was getting more and more difficult. And being with him, alone, next to a campfire, and there was no _way_ she wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation. She felt positively sinful about it, but not enough to let the opportunity go to waste.

If anyone had told her that she’d kiss three men upon her arrival in France--there was a quick, insincere kiss from Tomas that she reluctantly included--she’d never have believed it. Even more so, that she’d no longer be a virgin before she was married, and she’d have assumed anyone who claimed that to be utterly mad.

And now, willing to dive into furs with yet _another_ man--although, truthfully, the one that struck the most curiosity and made her feel safest. And yet what kind of queen let herself love so freely with her body? It was against everything Mary had been training herself to be as a ruler, and if she wasn’t careful, it could destroy her future.

But as a young woman, few things felt as natural and delicious as kissing handsome men in secret and feeling their hands roam around her body.

Like Bash was doing currently--one hand rested on her torso right under her breast, and the other was tucked into her hair, gently massaging her scalp. But he was being awfully polite about touching, not lingering in her most sensitive and responsive places, although she felt his body tense and resist an urge to lean into her completely. Her hands were less restrained, running up and down his arms and shoulders. If he felt she was intruding, he didn’t say so.

Kissing this time was even better than before, and she felt an invigorating warmth spread through her head to toe. He was quite a kisser, but it was clear he had less experience than his brother. Bash kissed hard and with a roughness she hadn’t expected and yet found completely tantalizing. She’d enjoyed plenty kissing sessions with Francis, and his kisses were long and enveloping, but nothing quite like this--nothing as raw or urgent, as if he was trying to take in as much as he could in the brief time they’d have together.

Mary’s head was swimming, and her body, too, was eager for the next step. It wasn’t the first time she’d had daydreams of her and Bash: his body moving above hers, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands placed on his broad shoulders.

And now that she knew what it was like to have a man inside her, to have him touch her, there was a stubborn and relentless ache inside of her now--unfulfillment was _torture_. Perhaps that’s why intimacy was so forbidden. The best things in life were often demonized, Mary was learning.

And so she pulled away first, her mouth agape. He didn’t let her move too far away from him, and she could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothing. How easy it would be to slide a hand underneath his shirt and caress his stomach. The cold always made her long for a close body, to press herself against another and be encompassed in their embrace.

“Are you going to let _me_ be the one to initiate a kiss one of these days?” he teased. _One of these days. As if there are more for us_ , she thought. He ran his fingers through her hair, and the touch was so pleasurable that her body responded fully--she felt her skin erupt into goosebumps under her dress, and a heat pulsed between her legs.

Suddenly she felt a wave of guilt and shame, and her stomach clenched with it. She thought of Francis; he’d never, ever forgive her for being intimate with his brother. Although truthfully, her leaving the castle with Bash might have already sealed their fate, and he’d never have to find out. Admittedly, betrayal wasn’t something Mary had thought herself capable of; she tried not to think too much about the fact that Francis had already broken their commitment to one another. And who knows what state they were in now, if there was anything left to protect, to save?

But beyond Francis, intimacy also had consequences--she’d never bothered to learn about the herbal concoctions women exchanged in secret, the brews that helped prevent and alleviate pregnancy. She never thought she would need to possess such knowledge.

Why was expressing love so complicated? It was such a natural act, and yet shrouded in secrecy.

She looked away and bit her lip.

“What is it?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“I just feel--so guilty,” she responded with honesty, letting loose a sigh. “You must think me a reckless woman, to be with your brother one moment and out here with you the next--”

“Mary, when will you realize that I'm not judging you?” he responded, once again raking a hand through her hair. When he reached the end, he twirled a lock around his index finger, and tugged with affection. She’d never had her hair touched in such a way. “If you’re trying to spare my feelings, you don’t have to burden yourself with that. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a sour taste in my mouth to think of you kissing and touching another, but that’s hardly a fair response to place on _you_. I learned long ago how to overcome being jealous of my brother.” He paused, and caressed her cheek; she wanted to smother his palm with kisses, but he continued talking.

“And, despite your place as a ruler, you’re entitled to do what you want with who you want, as far as I’m concerned,” he shrugged. “After all, it’s what men have done for hundreds of years.” He smiled. Somehow he always added a lighter tone to serious matters.

For minutes they sat in silence, gazing at one another. Mary noticed how his eyes flickered to her lips, to her collarbone, and up again until they met with hers. His breathing came in shallow, jagged huffs, and his breath was warm and sweet and scented with strawberries. The night was heavy around them, and Mary could see nothing past Bash’s face. The fire would keep animals away.

Above them, stars littered the sky. Normally Mary would be eager to identify her favorite constellations. But even the stars contained less wonder and awe than the beautiful dark haired man sitting before her.

Afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off of him any longer, Mary stood suddenly and smoothed the front of her dress.

“We should get some sleep,” she said. A look she couldn’t decipher crossed his face, but he, too, stood. Saying nothing, he simply nodded, his lips pressed together in a tight line. He turned away from her and began readying his bed next to the fire. She crouched to enter the tent.

Once inside, she exhaled deeply, and began undressing, pulling the white gown over her head in one motion. The air was harsh on her skin, and she kicked off her shoes, choosing to keep the stockings on. 

She reached her arm awkwardly up to unstitch her corset, and frowned. She’d never had to undo it by herself before; corsets _really_ were a two-person job. Sleeping in it would be a hindrance to her breathing--not to mention, terribly uncomfortable.

She could ask Bash to help. She could bring him into the warm tent, and feel his fingers graze her back as he loosened the threads. She could sleep beside him under the furs and feel his body pressed against hers.

She knew once he came in there’d be no turning back, and she tried to think beyond her body’s primal urges. Several thoughts cycled through her mind relentlessly.

_I think I love Bash._

_Tonight we are just lovers in a forest, like so many have been before us._

_We have such few precious hours._

_We may never be alone like this again._

Her heart thudded in her chest.

She crawled to the tent opening, and poked her head out into the frigid air. He glanced over at her, eyes widening at her attire.

“It’s much too cold to sleep out here tonight,” she said before he could respond. Her voice came out raspy and didn’t sound like her own. “Come inside with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sincerely sorry for the delay! I've been wrapped up in life and work stuff. But I am so thankful for your wonderful comments and feedback. I'm so glad you're enjoying the fic. This chapter gets into some bow chika bow bow if ya know what I mean, so you've been warned. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have one chapter after this to wrap up this fic, but I have some other Bash x Mary stories ideas in the works. :)

As long as he lived, Bash would never forget the image of Mary, on all fours and wearing nothing but a corset, her eyes alight with fire, beckoning him into the tent. His father would call it one of _those_ moments, the kind every man should experience with a woman in his life.

 _Come inside with me_ , she said, her voice low like he’d never heard it before. Christ. It’d be a long time before he could shake _that_ sentence from his thoughts.

When did she become so alluring? The wild made her wild. And daring, as she kneeled before him, her bare shoulders exposed, trying not to shiver from the cold air.

Bash tried every day to be a good, honorable man. But at the end of the day, he was still a man, one often surrounded by beautiful and regal women. There were many reasons he loved Mary--yes, _loved_ , as he had for days and weeks now. He was enthralled by her, surprised by her daily, delighted by her conversation and her opinions. But he’d tried to keep his thoughts pure, as much as he could for a man his age in love with a beautiful queen. That didn’t stop the dreams he’d had, and there’d been many--Mary dressed in red, Mary drenched in rain, Mary biting her lip and making eyes at him, Mary’s naked back and her hips and her thighs...

He didn’t question her command. He came to his feet at once and headed into the tent as if in a haze.

 _This is surely a dream_ , he told himself. _Any moment now I’ll wake up alone in my bed, tangled in sweaty sheets._

As if she could hear his thoughts--or perhaps she could just read his expression better than he expected--she reached out a hand and stroked his face. The other hand took his, and placed it on the top of her breast. Her skin was warm under his palm; she didn’t react to the coldness of his fingers.

 _Is this really happening?_ He tried not to think of what absurd facial expression he was likely making--one of bewilderment, confusion, adoration, desire. She leaned in and kissed him.

_This is happening._

Their kisses were tentative but teasing--she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, and it nearly sent him reeling. They weren’t quite pressed together--yet--and he was grateful for the distance that disguised his arousal.

She broke away. “Do you think you could help me with my corset?” She blushed. “I feel foolish as I’ve never had to remove it by myself before, but it’s awfully uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“Of course. Turn around.”

She obliged, pulling her thick hair over her shoulder to allow him access. He directed his attention to the stays, which he began to unravel--a particularly stubborn knot held up the process, but he concentrated, until finally the corset was loose. She lifted her arms, and he slid it over her head and tossed it to the side. Now she was dressed in a sheer strapless shift covering her torso and reaching her toes. He tried not to gaze at the outline of her breasts or her navel peeking through the thin material.

Mary breathed a satisfied sigh of relief and ran her hands down her stomach. “Ah, that’s much better. Wearing that around the castle is difficult enough, but a day making camp in the woods is quite another matter.”

“I don’t know how women tolerate the shackles they must endure daily,” he replied, teasing, but not entirely. “Although I must say you’re quite becoming in any form.”

“Oh, Bash.” She said it softly, neither question nor statement. “Sebastian.”

He smiled. “You so rarely say my full name,” he said.

“I’m afraid if I do it reveals what I feel for you.”

“Oh?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but it came out three octaves higher than he’d have liked.

She looked him levelly. “We might never be alone like this again.”

His stomach clenched at her boldness. “I know.”

She bit her lip and glanced around the tent. “Will you lie with me? I just--I just want to feel you next to me.”

He nodded, pausing only to unbutton the overcoat he hadn’t yet removed. Under it he wore simple travel clothes--a roughspun tunic he favored, and some worn trousers. He kicked off his shoes, too, and lowered himself to Mary. She stretched her legs out and covered both of them with blankets.

She propped herself on her elbow and he followed suit. Her eyes trailed his arms and face, her lips slightly parted and yet saying nothing. He didn’t know who initiated the kiss--he kept losing track--but somehow they were kissing again, and it was different this time, less tentative and more urgent.

He felt her hands reach under his shirt and caress his shoulders. _I need to be naked with you_ , he thought wildly. _Now_. “Would you like me to remove my shirt?” he asked.

Mary nodded and sat up as he pulled his tunic over his face, then moved to her shift and pulled it down to her torso where it pooled loosely around her waist.

Bash, now shirtless and overwhelmed by his biological response to the female form, could do nothing but stare at her supple breasts, before he was overcome with the need to _touch_ and fondle and nuzzle and put his mouth on her body. He was more than ready to push Mary down and clamber on top of her. He’d never been quite this close before to making love with a woman--he’d had several dalliances throughout the years, but nothing went further than a quick, panting make-out session with a pretty girl in some secret place in the castle. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but sexual relationships at court were... complicated. And at heart, Bash suspected himself a romantic, and felt surprisingly protective of his own virtue.

But now he knew what the missing piece was--trust. And Mary, a queen, trusted him enough to look upon her body, to lay beside her. Even within the fog of physical desire, he was moved by her devotion. Love felt thick in his throat. If he lived to be an old man, and if he never got one more second with Mary, he’d always remember the trust of a beautiful young queen who allowed him to act on his love.

But Mary’s exposed breasts and arms and stomach brought him back to the moment, where she sat looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“May I?” he asked, holding up his hands, hoping that the question demonstrated the patience he was having trouble mustering.

She grinned. “You may.”

Bash placed both hands on Mary’s slender stomach, and slid them slowly upward until each cupped a breast--her breasts filled his hands, erect nipples right under his palm, and he suppressed a primal urge to groan.

Mary reacted similarly, and her eyelids fluttered at his touch. She rolled her shoulders and arched her back, and he took this as a sign to continue. He gently nudged her backward, and she spread out on the blanket, her arms reaching for him to come closer.

He moved to lay atop her, sliding the shift off her body, and he pushed apart her knees so he could rest between her legs. He put his mouth on her stomach, and kissed a trail from her navel to her chin, stopping only to lick her nipples. Admittedly, he was curious about her reaction, which was ultimately amusing and encouraging--she gasped and writhed, and laughed at the sensitivity, before letting an unbridled moan escape her mouth.

They did little but kiss and touch for several minutes before Mary pulled away and looked at him, her brow furrowed.

“Have there been--others? For you?” she asked, tentatively.

He grinned briefly, then sobered. “Mary, I’m known to be a bit of a flirt. But there’s never been anyone for me.” He paused. “Until, well, you. Can you understand how that torments me?”

“I don’t understand. Of all the girls who must beg for your affection--why me?” She bit her lip, and looked away, suddenly fearful. “Is it because I’m betrothed to your brother? Am I some sort of competition for you?”

He winced like he was socked in the stomach. “How could you possibly think that of me?”

“Then why? What is it that you see in me?” Her face reflected a sincere uncertainty, and he understood--it was unlikely she’d expected to be intimate with two men within such a short period of time, and the remnants of Francis’ previous infidelity were clearly still of concern.

“It’s--” He sighed in exasperation. “Your voice, for one. Soft at times, commanding when necessary. Your defiance. Your cleverness. Your playfulness. Your protectiveness over your friends, Francis, me. Your beauty, of course, particularly your hair when its adorned with flowers--and while deeply admired, secondary to what draws me most to you. The way you catch my eye and smirk when we’re in a crowded room. The way you see me as your equal, when so few of your stature ever have--or even need to.”

Mary just blinked, her mouth open, for once at a loss for words. Her face cleared, and she smiled with her heart in her eyes.

“But can I be honest?” he said before she could reply. At this, she looked skeptical, but he continued. “At this moment, you look so ravishing that I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”

“Ha! I knew you weren’t so honorable all the time, you cheeky boy,” she exclaimed. “How’s this for honesty? When I first met you I wanted to touch you instantly. I was so enthralled with your _hands_. I wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by you.”

“Really? I would have assumed you only had eyes for Francis.”

“Nonsense. To admit more than I should, my friends took you for Francis at first, and were disappointed--for me--when they found out you weren’t. Although I think Lola was relieved. She certainly fancies you, you know.”

He’d suspected as such. They’d spent several evenings together playing chess, and while Lola was a charming girl, he couldn’t help that her good qualities were better embodied in Mary. He also didn’t like the way she’d vocally doubted Mary on more than one occasion. While he understood the challenges of being second in command, Bash rarely gossiped about his brother, and had little tolerance for disloyal friends. Court life was difficult enough already.

Overcome with a thick feeling in his throat, he looked at Mary. With the fur tucked around her waist and her loosely braided hair draped over her shoulder, she looked like a huntress, like Artemis, and he was reminded of her archer ensemble. She’d worn it for Tomas to embody his favorite weapon, but it was _she_ who was the weapon. A sharp, dangerous arrow headed straight for Bash’s heart. Well, who was he kidding--there’d been a painful shard resting there ever since he’d met her.

“Mary, I love you,” he said. “There will never be anyone else for me but you. I just want you to know that.”

And with that he kissed her, and this time he let his hands roam free, and moved instantly toward her legs. She gasped into his mouth, and kissed with more fervor.

He stopped at her inner thigh. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Will you stop being so noble?” She sat up and put a hand over her heart. “I, Mary, am offering myself to you, on this night, where we are not who the world says we are, but ancient forest dwellers.” She grew serious. “And the universe says you and I are _allowed_ to love.”

That was enough for him. In a swift movement, he rocked backward into a sitting position and pulled Mary forward so she tumbled onto him, her legs straddling his hips. Raising her slightly, he hurriedly pushed his trousers down to his knees, and grabbed Mary by waist, and lifted her onto him.

She put a hand on his chest and closed her eyes, her mouth open. He remained still, suddenly insecure-- _did I do something wrong? What if she doesn’t like that? Oh god that feels good..._

“Sorry, I’ve never done it this way before,” she gasped through short breaths. “Being on top, I mean. It feels different. Fuller, somehow.” He moved his hips slightly, and they both moaned before catching each other’s eyes and grinning.

“Tell me what you like,” he said. But rather than telling, Mary took his hand and led it to the heat between her legs--he obeyed and traced his thumb in the wetness until he found the spot that made her squirm and throw her head back. She began to buck on his lap, and he followed her lead, moving his hips upward, keeping one hand between her legs and the other arm wrapped securely around her back.

 _So this is lovemaking_ , he thought, as Mary moved atop him, gasping with him, her hands gripped tightly on his back. _This is love at it’s most primal, most natural expression_. It drove him wild to feel her skin against his; he shivered with pleasure every time her hair brushed against his arm. But he wanted nothing more than to hear her moan, and to be the one to make her unravel, and so far, it seemed to be working. She rode him with abandon, and her eyes fluttered, and she poured herself into the moment, and while he felt dizzy and on the verge of unraveling himself, he could do little but watch her in wonder. He’d never seen her so face look so unfurrowed, her poise forgotten.

She cried out suddenly, and shuddered, and slumped against his chest, breathing heavy. Bash ran a finger down her spine as she calmed.

“Do you need to stop?” he asked.

She came back to attention and shook her head. “No, not at all, please don’t--” She looked sly. “Would you want to try something? It’s something I saw in a book once…” she trailed off.

“Lead the way, my queen.”

He was momentarily tortured when she moved off of him, and she turned around so that her back was pressed against his chest. He leaned into her, his face buried in her shoulders, and pushed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. He reached around to cup her breasts, and bent her slightly to enter her.

She gasped loudly when he did.

“Are you alright?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

“Yes, yes,” she said breathlessly, leaning forward onto her knees. Her hands reached for his, which she directed to her hips. “Just--keep going.”

Bash was more than aware of many lovemaking positions--he’d heard enough drunken talk from his father to imagine situations with more detail than he needed, and there was no shortage of mature books in the library. As children, he and Francis would pore over them in secret, as brothers do, and they would talk about the beautiful women they’d bed when they were both men.

Bash always dreamt of making love to Mary with their faces to one another, he moving slowly atop her, but this was _thrilling_ \--the sight of her naked back, which tapered to her slender waist and full hips and ass was an image he hadn’t daydreamed about before.

He finally let loose, and moved at a steady pace inside her, trying not to come undone just yet--he wanted to savor the sensation of being inside Mary like this, her body warm and inviting to his. He reached for her hair and grabbed it in a bunch; she cried out but didn’t stop him. Wildly he bucked into her, her body bouncing against his hips, and he couldn’t hold back anymore--he lost control as he came and let out a cry, and his knees buckled, and fell against Mary’s back, his hands still clasped on her chest.   

After a moment, Mary squirmed around in his arms and turned to face him, and kissed him lightly when his breath finally returned.

“Alright?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yes. Honestly, I'm quite speechless.”

“I can tell,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Would you think me a scandalous woman to tell you that I’ve dreamt often of you--well, of us?” She grew serious. “We’re connected now, you and I. In a way I never thought was possible for us. Promise me that, no matter what happens, you’ll never forget that.”

Oh Mary. “I’ve led a privileged life in many ways, Mary, but your love and confidence has made me a very lucky man indeed.” He paused to choke back the thickness in his throat; he hoped she didn’t notice. “I’d gladly die tonight knowing that you trusted me enough to make love to you, and to be your protector.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him ardently. “Well, let’s look to the future, instead. Come now, and sleep. Morning will be here soon, and we’ll have to face the world again.”

He settled down beside her and she covered them both with furs. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep in her arms.


End file.
